


These Scars

by 221b_TARDISstreet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: references to self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_TARDISstreet/pseuds/221b_TARDISstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hunt, Dean brings back an injured girl and her disturbing secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Scars

**Author's Note:**

> If you are triggered in any way by mentions of self-harm/cutting, I strongly advise you turn away. Otherwise, read on!

Sammy!” Dean yelled, pounding on the door of the motel room. He glanced at the girl in his arms. She was small. She was pale from blood loss. She was young, no more than sixteen. And she was dying.

The door opened and Sam stuck his head out, quickly moving aside when he saw his brother’s face and what he was carrying. Dean shoved past Sam and set the girl down on a bed, looking frantically for the first aid kit.

“Here.” Sam threw the little red bag across the room. Dean caught it left-handed and pulled out every bit of gauze he could find, ignoring the fact that he too was bleeding heavily.

The girl, who remained mostly a mystery to Dean and more so to Sam, had a deep scratch from the latest monster on her upper left arm. Dean quickly and carefully pulled off her long sleeved, button down shirt, leaving the tank top beneath it. Her arm was covered in blood, a scary amount. Dean looked around desperately for something to clean the wound with. The girl’s shirt was too blood-soaked to use, as was his own.

“Sam. Towel.” Sam knew that voice. That was the You-will-do-what-I-say voice. The This-is-life-or-death-you-dumbass voice. He slipped into the overly shiny hotel bathroom and pulled one of the overly shiny hotel towels from the rack. When he came back, Dean looked more concerned and a little confused.

Dean took the towel and started dabbing at the wound. Halfway through the process, the girl woke up with a cry of pain. After she registered what was happening, she held still and didn’t say anything more until Dean was through bandaging her arm. The moment he took a step back, she became o fountain of questions.

“Where am I? Who are you? Wait, you’re that hunter from back there… Where is the possessed bird? Did you kill it? Most importantly, where is my damn shirt?” She asked in one breath.

“Um,” Dean started, “A hotel room outside of town, I’m Dean, this is Sam, the demon bird is dead, and over there in the corner.” She tried to stand up and very nearly passed out again.

“I wouldn’t move much,” Sam advised, helping her back onto the bed. “You lost a lot of blood.” She nodded a little and sat back.

“Bring me it,” she said.

“What?” Sam asked.

“My shirt. Bring me it.”

“It’s dripping blood. We’ll wash it,” Dean said, watching her face.

“No, I need it.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“To- Because…” She couldn’t think of a normal person reason she would need a bloody shirt.

“Because of that?” Dean gestured to her forearm, a criss-cross of scars and red lines. No one was supposed to have seen that.

“Yeah.” Her voice was barely audible, her eyes flicking away to the floor. The realization hit Sam, and he took a couple steps forward and knelt next to her.

“What’s your name?” His voice was calm, quiet.

“Lanie.”

“Well, Lanie, I don’t know what it is, but we’ll fix it, okay? You can stay with us if you want. Start over.” Her eyes widened, and a small, weak smile came across her face. No one had been this kind to to her in a long, long time.


End file.
